


But If You Really Hold Me Tight

by kototyph



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Family Drama, Ficlet, M/M, Schmoop, Space Husbands, comment!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-27
Updated: 2011-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-03 05:54:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kototyph/pseuds/kototyph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <abbr class="datetime">Oct. 27th, 2011 04:48 pm (local)</abbr>
  <br/>
  <em>I’m in a Christmas-y mood right now… not sure why. So, Christmas-flavored fluff! Also, comment!fic = very quickly written w/no grammar or readability guaranteed.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	But If You Really Hold Me Tight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kianspo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kianspo/gifts).



Jim glanced fearfully back at the wide bay windows of the café, then at his PADD as it continued to ring. “Please, please pick up,” he breathed, wiping falling snow off the screen. “Pick up, pickuppickuppickup— Spock!”

“ _Captain_ ,” he replied, voice cool and face empty of expression.

“Finally! Spock, look, I need help. Immediate, major help,” he added, shooting another look through the window. He could see the back of their heads from here, all of them laughing at something and sipping their exotically-flavored hot cocoa. Oh God, he was so screwed.

A tiny frown-line appeared between his first officer’s eyebrows.  _“What has happened? Are you injured?_ ”

“I will be if you don’t  _help me!_ ” he whined pathetically, then made an attempt to steady his voice. “Can you get to my coordinates? Soon?”

Spock glanced up at someone off-screen, and said something quiet in Vulcan. Jim caught ‘superior’ and ‘difficulties’, and then Spock turned to the screen and asked, “ _My work here is at a delicate stage and cannot be postponed indefinitely. Should I not alert the Terran authorities instead?”_

“No! God, no. It’s not-- it’s not really that kind of emergency,” he finished lamely. “Please, would... would you just come?”

The natural impassiveness of Spock’s face took on a slightly exasperated air. “ _Captain--”_

“And if I sent you a list of things,” and here he wiped away more snow and tapped his Christmas list, sending it off to Spock with a flick of his stylus, “Could you pick them up on the way?” He tried to smile winningly, and failed if the decidedly sour look that crossed the Vulcan’s face was anything to judge by.  

_“If I may be clear, Captain, you wish for me to abandon my experiments, acquire miscellaneous objects, and report to your coordinates to face unspecified dangers which include threats to your person, but are not the province of Terran law enforcement?”_

“Yep.”

_“... highly irregular.”_

“I know. Sorry,” he said softly. “But I really, really need your help. You’re my only hope.” Because Bones was in Georgia, Scotty had fallen off the face of the earth and Uhura was enjoying the Christmas holidays in the sweltering shade of the Kenyan mountains.

 _“And these items are strictly necessary?”_ Spock said, eyes focused slightly to the side as he called up the list and scanned through it.

“Spock,  _I will **die**_  if you don’t bring them.”

Spock looked up sharply, seeming legitimately concerned now.  _“Are you bargaining with terrorists, Captain?”_

Jim laughed gloomily. “No. Just family.”

* * *

The sky had darkened to the color and texture of wet wool when Jim glanced toward the door and saw Spock edge through it, encumbered by several bags and brightly-wrapped packages. There were two high, bright spots of apple green on his cheeks, barely visible under the complicated scarf, hat and hood ensemble he affected when they wintered on Earth. “I could  _kiss_ you,” Jim said under his breath as he rushed up to take some of the packages.  
   
“A verbal thanks would suffice,” Spock said stiffly, tone shading towards a grumble. There were snowflakes caught in the folds of his long coat and eyelashes. “And I apologize for the gaudy wrappings. The salespeople would not be dissuaded.”  
   
“Still.” He grinned at Spock, only smiling wider when Spock’s brows lowered in an almost-scowl. “You’ve just saved my life.”  
   
“I fail to see the threat,” the Vulcan said dryly, glancing around at the cozy sofa groupings and low tables scattered throughout the dim, warm little café.  
   
Appropriately, at that moment Winona called out, “Jimmy, who’s your friend?”  
   
Caught, Jim glanced back to her, then to Spock. “Ah, well. This is my first officer. You know, S—”  
   
“Spock!” she crowed delightedly.

“Admiral,” Spock acknowledged, a bit bemused-sounding.  
   
“Don’t just stand in the doorway,” she scolded, motioning them forward and patting a chair invitingly. “Come sit with us.” ‘Us’ being her, Sam and Aurelan, a trifecta of domestic horror Jim had not had visiting upon him since last Christmas. He’d forgotten how terrifyingly  _content_  they were.  
   
“Ah—” Spock began, and Jim opened his mouth to tell him he was off the hook, packages delivered, back to the lab again.  
   
“ **Sit** ,” Vice Admiral Kirk ordered, and the lowly captain and commander shuffled obediently forward.  
   
Jim resumed his seat on the low loveseat in the corner, back to the wall and facing the door. The couch nearly swallowed him, the thoroughly broken-in cushions giving way almost to the floor; next to him, Spock balanced awkwardly on the edge and deigned to tug his scarf down from over his nose. “You need hot chocolate,” Winona decided, gazing at him, and edged out of their little alcove to go get it.  
   
Aurelan leaned over her armrest to whisper to Jim, “I guess these are the presents you swore you hadn’t forgotten,” and laughed sweetly at his helpless shrug.

   
“So, Mr. Spock, I hear you’re researching monocot crop propagation on the Gamma-series planets,” Sam said, and Spock blinked.  
   
“Jim called me away just as we were rendering the values from Gamma V,” he said slowly.  
   
“Ah, Gamma V. I heard that the loam plains were considered most apt for terraforming, but that the temperate forests might also be viable,” Sam said seriously, and that was it. Jim recognized Spock’s “Fasinating!” face when he saw it, and apparently Sam had one of his own; he and Aurelan exchanged rueful glances and by mutual agreement started their own conversation, lowbrow enough to balance out the deep scientific discussion on the other side of coffee table.  
   
Winona came back with a round of drinks, and then the presents were distributed—a process made both easier and much more hilarious by the neat handwriting labeling each gift; there was a “much too bright sweater”, an “ostentatious teapot”, and so on. Jim caught Spock’s eye and stifled a laugh at the prim challenge in the set of his jaw.  
   
“Thank you for the ostentatious teapot, Jim,” Aurelan said, lips twitching with suppressed giggles. “You, too, Spock.”  
   
Spock lifted a brow. “I merely followed a detailed list.”  
   
“I knew you’d forgotten,” Sam grinned, and Jim was feeling relaxed and warm enough to elbow Spock lightly in the ribs.  
   
“You sold me out,” he accused, and Spock tilted his head.  
   
“I believe the phrase is, ‘It serves you right’,” he demurred, and they all laughed at that.  
   
There was more hot cocoa, and sugar cookies, and then glintvin with apple as the evening aged and turned to night. Sam and Spock resumed their agricultural dissertation defense, Aurelan engaged Winona in discussion of baby names, and it was so easy to drop out of the conversation and let his head come to rest on his hand as the café around him slipped out of focus.  
   
When he lifted his head again, he and Spock sat alone, the café itself almost complete empty.  
   
“Mmmm?” he groaned.  
   
Spock, who had been flicking through documents on his PADD, looked up and smiled. Jim stared for a moment, but then decided the expression was a trick of the light. The Vulcan’s lips weren’t curved at all, so he couldn’t be smiling, right?  
   
“You fell asleep,” Spock said with unaccountable softness.  
   
“What, really?” The old analog clock on the wall read fifteen til 2300. Jim scrubbed a hand over his face. “Jesus, Spock, I’m sorry.”  
   
“Why?” He sounded honestly confused.  
   
“Your research. You said it couldn’t wait.”  
   
Amazingly, Spock gave an elegant shrug. “The evening is not entirely wasted. I’ve been reading through your brother’s papers on Terran monocot production, and there are several applicable studies I wish to discuss with him. And…”  
   
“And?” Jim prompted.  
   
Spock gave him his most stonelike and expressionless stare. “Meeting your family was extremely interesting from an anthropological standpoint. I believe it will help me better understand human familial interaction in general and you in particular.”  
   
Jim couldn’t help smiling a little at that. “Yeah?”  
   
Spock nodded imperiously. “Yes.”  
   
“Well, then.” Jim lifted the last of his glintvin, knocking the edge against the mug of cocoa cradled in Spock’s hand. “To interesting anthropological studies.”  
   
“Indeed.”


End file.
